The Montreal Protocol
by fakiagirl
Summary: In 1987, an international meeting is held in Canada. Alfred decides that it is a good opportunity to become friends with Arthur again. 10 years later, Lady Di is killed and Arthur is in pain. Old memories are brought up and misunderstandings realized.
1. Chapter 1:  Montreal, Part I

_Author's note:_ My main source for historical stuffs, unless otherwise noted, is the Wikipedia page for the topic. The "United Kingdom - United States relations" page was very helpful (sooo much "cannon-fodder"! :3). Plus, it turns out the relationship between the U.S. and the U.K. actually has a formal term: "The Special Relationship" (which has it's own page too XD ). Other pages used: "Death of Diana, Princess of Wales"; "Diana, Princess of Wales"; and "Montreal Protocol." (If you need more specifics, I can give them to you.)

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own, or claim to own, Hetalia or any of its characters.

. . .

**On August 31, 1997, Diana, Princess of Wales, died in Paris, France. She had been fatally injured in a car accident. The British people were shocked and grief-stricken. The American people shared their grief for Lady Di.**

**This same year was the 10-year anniversary of the creation of the Montreal Protocol, which was an effort by a group of countries to prevent further depletion of the ozone layer caused by chloroflorocarbons. The idea that CFCs could be damaging the ozone layer was first proposed by two scientists working in the U.S., but it was a group of British scientists working in Antarctica that discovered the ozone "hole" that proved their theory. The 1987 Montreal Protocol has since been revised many times at meetings held in London (1990), Nairobi, Copenhagen, Bangkok, Vienna, Montreal (1997), and Beijing.**

**The following story is loosely based on these events.**

. . .

_Chapter 1 - Montreal, Part I_

**Montreal, Quebec, Canada - 1987  
Mo****ntreal Protocol on Substances That Deplete the Ozone Layer**

The meeting had been long and Arthur was feeling a bit worn out. He was grateful it was over. All the countries were standing up and beginning to stack up their notes. He stood up as well and began to moodily put on his coat – it was bloody freezing outside – when Alfred materialized in front of him.

"Hey Arthur, good work! I really appreciate your guys' dedication to science." He grinned and began to shake Arthur's hand before Arthur realized what he was doing. "I mean, who else would have thought about going to Antarctica, right?"

"Oh – right. Least I could do."

"Hey, what do you say you come over for a quick cup of hot chocolate before you go? It's freezing outside."

_What the hell._ "Sure." Arthur allowed himself to be dragged out the door while Alfred yelled a hasty "Thanks Matty!" over his shoulder. "This whole thing is going to be great," he told Arthur as an aside as they trudged through the snow. "I always knew there was going to be a disaster like this that I would get to save everyone from."

"I think we're all saving everyone from it together," Arthur said dryly.

"It's still pretty cool that I figured out the chloroflorocarbon thing, right? I mean, you can't deny that. Like I said, your guys did some nice work, but really." Alfred slung an arm around Arthur's neck and grinned at him. Arthur said "tsk" and turned his head away, but he didn't protest the contact. After a moment Alfred let him go. They listened to their boots crunch on the snow and for once Alfred seemed content to be silent. Arthur often forgot that the level of noise Alfred emitted declined in proportion to how many people were around.

"Ah, home sweet home!" Arthur looked up. He was always a little surprised at how big Alfred's house and his younger brother's house were. They just didn't quite compare to anything back home.

Alfred ran up the walkway. He scrapped his boots about a bit on the doormat while he unlocked the door, and Arthur scrapped his own boots off thoroughly before following him inside. Arthur almost sighed in pleasure at the warmth. Alfred was very fond of his thermostat.

"Make yourself at home," said Alfred, throwing his coat over the back of an armchair. "I'll go make the coco." Arthur removed his own coat and carefully hung it on the coatrack, which was extremely untidy and full of old coats and umbrellas. He sat down on the couch carefully but let himself lean back slightly. After a minute, Alfred reappeared with two steaming mugs. "Here you are." He handed one to Arthur and sat down in the armchair with the other.

Alfred took a sip and made an appreciative noise. Arthur took a sip and immediately regretted letting Alfred "make" him any. He had forgotten that Alfred was very fond of instant drinks that were much too sweet.

"It's been a while, huh?"

Arthur nodded vaguely. Alfred grew quiet and started at a spot in the air somewhere behind and to the left of Arthur. Arthur took another sip of the chocolate and let him think.

"I thought you would visit more often."

"What?"

Alfred scratched his head absently. "I mean, not right after. We weren't talking, and then it was awkward and stuff, but you've never really come over before except on business."

Arthur hadn't expected this to be brought up quite so suddenly. Actually, Arthur was pretty sure this was the first time it had been directly mentioned. Had it really been that long ago? He let the heat from the mug warm his fingers. "I thought you didn't want me to visit."

"Not at first. But you know, friendly diplomatic relations and all that." He was looking at Arthur over the edges of his glasses.

"Why didn't you come over and visit, then?"

"Well sure, but I couldn't. I mean, I was pretty busy building a new country and all." He laughed and took a swig of his hot chocolate to finish it off. "Want a refill?"

"No thanks." Arthur set the mug down on the table while Alfred went back into the kitchen. He leaned back a little and sighed. Alfred never really seemed to understand how much he had injured Arthur by leaving. He was over it now, of course, but it had been hard at the time. He had been positive he was going to be protecting Alfred forever. He supposed the fact that they could talk about it now was a sign of how close they had become, but it was still nothing like it had used to be.

Alfred came back. "Don't you ever get lonely?"

That was a strange question. "Do you?"

"Well, I have a lot of friends, but they're not really friends. They're more like business partners I'm friendly with. Like you. I can't always tell what's genuine."

Arthur felt a little offended at that. "You can't always tell if I'm genuine?"

Alfred leaned back and was looking at Arthur in a way that could almost be considered serious. "I don't know you as well as I used to. I miss being able to talk to you whenever. Can we be friends again?"

Arthur wanted to say, _Well, that depends,_ because asking someone to be your friend was about the least genuine way of going about it that Arthur had ever heard, but it was Alfred. When he was uncertain of what exactly to say but knew what he wanted to say, Alfred had always been very blunt. "Sure. I guess we didn't get it right the first time."

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, I guess not."

When Arthur got home, he took of his coat, made himself a pot of tea, sat down on the couch, and began to think about things that he hadn't seriously thought about for a long, long time.


	2. Chapter 2: Memories of a Sunny Day

_Chapter 2 - Memories of a Sunny Day_

_Author's note:_ Rosa gallica officinalis is believed to be the rose that the Lancaster rose (the red rose in the Wars of the Roses) is based off of and is possibly the first cultivated rose. (Source: Wikipedia.)

. . .

_It was a gorgeous sunny day,_ a rare thing. Arthur had taken Alfred out to the garden to cut roses. Alfred was still young – perhaps eight years old if he had been human – and at a stage in his life where he could hardly stand to be stuck inside. As soon as Arthur had opened the door, Alfred had shot out like a bullet and disappeared. Arthur let him. Arthur loved sunshine just as much as Alfred did (though admittedly, his house wasn't in the right place for it) and he wouldn't chastise Alfred for having a little fun.

Arthur sighed and let the warmth pour over his face. He began to contentedly gather roses and soon had a decently-sized bouquet. He looked up and saw Alfred racing towards him, two red roses flapping dejectedly from one hand. Alfred stumbled to a stop just before he ran into Arthur and gave him a breathless smile.

"Hey there," said Arthur with a smile. "Looks like you found the _gallica officinalis_." The crimson-red roses were some of Arthur's favorites.

"Yup!" said Alfred cheerfully. "It wasn't hard."

"Well, thank you for getting them for me. No bouquet is complete without them."

Arthur bent down and stretched out a hand to take the roses. Alfred's face became unusually serious, and he almost looked like he was feeling shy. After a slight hesitation he held out the roses, and when Arthur took them with an encouraging smile, Alfred grinned, looped his arms around Arthur's neck, and gave Arthur a kiss on the cheek.

Arthur was so surprised and pleased at this childish display of affection, he laughed. He had stopped kissing Alfred when he put him to bed ages ago (at Alfred's request), and the frequency of hugs had since been declining. Arthur had been a little put-off by the whole thing, but this felt like the old Alfred. "What happened to acting like a gentleman?" he asked teasingly.

Alfred let go of Arthur's neck and looked taken-aback for an instant. "I– I–" he said, almost blushing. "I'm sorry." He stumbled backwards a few steps.

"It's fine," Arthur said quickly. _What just happened?_ "Do you want to carry the bouquet?" He held it out to Alfred.

"No," Alfred said, and ran back up to the house.

That was when Alfred figured it out, and Arthur still had no idea.


	3. Chapter 3: London

_Chapter 3 - London_

_Author's note_: For the sake of the story, I've figuring that a year or two feels like about a week to a country. Obviously there isn't a precise way to measure "country time," but this is what I'm using. :)

. . .

**London, England - 1990  
Montreal Protocol - Discussion of Amendments**

It was three years later, and Arthur was tidying up his house in preparation for the next meeting.

Arthur had had plenty of time to reflect on his conversation with Alfred, and had come to several conclusions. First, he had probably confused Alfred in those awkward years immediately following Alfred's departure. Alfred had probably expected that Arthur would let him go, but not that he would withdraw from his life quite so completely. Alfred had probably not expected Arthur to be quite as shocked as he was. Of course, looking back on it now the whole thing had been inevitable, but at the time it had come as quite a surprise to Arthur. Alfred probably thought that Arthur had overreacted.

Second, he might have misinterpreted Alfred. He had assumed that Alfred honestly didn't want anything to do with Arthur again, ever. Their business relationship had grown gradually and had known its ups and downs, but he had assumed that Alfred thought it was a good replacement for their old one. Apparently that wasn't true. Even after the initial awkwardness had passed, Alfred wouldn't have wanted to open friendly relations because that might have been seen as a sign of weakness. Arthur could accept that. But Arthur still couldn't figure out why Alfred hadn't made an effort to be more than business partners before even though many, many years had passed since Alfred would be considered weak by anyone.

The meeting started. Somehow Arthur had ended up sitting next to Francis (stupid frog) and rather far away from Alfred, but Alfred still noticed him and waved at him. _Definitely a friendly gesture,_ Arthur decided. During the proceedings, Alfred ignored Arthur, but that was just how Alfred was. When the meeting was over, Arthur was just deciding that it had been another failed attempt to gather information on Alfred, when he spotted Alfred making his way towards him.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"It's, uh, 'going' fine."

"Your house hasn't changed a whole lot, huh?" Alfred was looking around curiously, hands in his pockets. "Still got those dining chairs."

"No, it hasn't." Arthur wondered if he should feel offended, but Alfred didn't seem to intend his comments to be insulting. The other countries were starting to file out the door with nods and goodbyes, and Arthur responded distractedly.

"Hey, you, uh, want to see a play or something?" said Alfred.

"What?"

"I'm still going to be out here for a couple of days. We could catch something. . . ."

"Oh, yes, of course," said Arthur, pretending that this was not totally out of the blue. "How long will you be here?"

"Just tomorrow. I leave the next morning, early flight back. Booked the tickets kind of late," he added, laughing embarrassedly at Arthur's questioning look; Alfred never got up early if he could help it.

"Do you have a number while you're here? I can call you tonight when I get the tickets."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred looked relieved. He stuck his hands in his pockets until he found some paper and a pencil. He scribbled something out and handed it to Arthur.

"Thanks."

Alfred smiled cheerfully. "Cool. See ya tomorrow then." He waved and left.

Arthur looked around at the dining room that he'd held the meeting in. It was in disarray. He started straightening all the chairs and picking up the papers and felt sweat start to break out on his neck. _What did I just get myself into?_

. . .

After much agonized searching, Arthur finally found two balcony seats for the next day to _Cyrano de Bergerac_. It was a French opera rather than an English play, but he figured that Alfred didn't really know the difference. They were actually amazingly bad seats, but he made a few telephone calls and got them front-row seats. Alfred had better appreciate this, he thought as he found himself forking over an exorbitant amount of money. He called Alfred and told him to show up at his place at 7:00, as it started at 8:00, and knowing Alfred, he'd be late.

He was.

"Hey," said Alfred with a smile. It was 7:36. Arthur wanted to strangle him, but he resisted the urge and instead pushed him out the door as fast as he could.

"Aw come on, we've got plenty of time."

"We _had_ plenty of time," Arthur said through clenched teeth as he turned the steering wheel harder than necessary and the wheels screeched. "We _had_ plenty of time."

They hurried into the theatre and Arthur shoved their tickets into the teller's face impatiently. "Here," he growled, and the teller raised an eyebrow and examined the tickets slowly just to spite him. They barely made it through the doors before they closed and kept bumping into people's knees as they made their way to their seats. "So sorry," said Arthur without feeling as he savagely stepped on someone's foot.

"You know, you really have a violent side to you," Alfred said laughingly as he plopped down into his seat.

"Shush," Arthur told him sharply. The lights lowered and the curtain raised.

Arthur had forgotten what it was like to go to the theatre with Alfred. The last time had been . . . he didn't know when exactly. It turned out that Alfred still liked to comment on things, and ask what was going to happen next, and say "Woah! That's awesome!" whenever something "cool" happened. At first, Arthur was embarrassed, and told him to stop disrupting the actors; but then Alfred dutifully leaned in close to whisper his comments in Arthur's ear, and mostly kept his exclamations limited to sharp intakes of breath, and Arthur realized that it was almost endearing. When Roxane came out on the balcony to listen to Cyrano's words from Christian's mouth, Alfred stopped fidgeting. When Cyrano finally pushed Christine aside and confessed his love to Roxane, albeit as Christian, Arthur noticed that Alfred held his breath; when Roxane actually came down from the balcony (1) and the pain Cyrano was experiencing was almost palpable, Alfred actually put his arm around Arthur's shoulders and pulled him close. Arthur stiffened automatically, but when he glanced at Alfred he saw that his eyes were filled with tears. He relaxed, and Alfred didn't remove his arm until the act had ended.

Alfred seemed to like the second half better than the first – it had battle scenes in it! – but actually fell asleep during the last scene. Arthur had to poke him awake so that he would see the dramatic death scene. After the lights were brightened and they had clapped sufficiently, Alfred told Arthur loudly, "That guy took forever to die."

Arthur hoped no one else had heard him, but he secretly agreed. "That is almost the definition of drama," he drawled. Alfred just shook his head.

They exited the theatre along with everyone else. When they finally reached the sidewalk Alfred yawned widely. Arthur took in a deep breath of the cool night air. He felt Alfred bump against him. "Man, you guys do know how to do those canon-fire effects. Those were awesome."

Arthur stood a little straighter. "They were rather well done, weren't they?"

Alfred leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. Arthur almost fell over sideways as he automatically leaned away from him. Alfred laughed. "Just teasing. You know I've never been much of a gentleman."

That sounded vaguely familiar, but Arthur couldn't remember why. "R-right." He wiped his cheek, even though Alfred hadn't left any saliva on it. They walked the rest of the way in silence, Alfred yawning loudly every few steps. Arthur drove Alfred back to his hotel and they bid each other goodnight. He watched Alfred walk up the steps to the hotel and disappear inside before pulling back onto the street and driving himself back to his dark, lonely house.

. . .

(1) I've seen both the movie and opera version of this scene, and in the movie version Roxane didn't actually come down, but she did in the opera. Quick plot summary of _Cyrano de Bergerac,_ complete with spoilers: Cyrano and Christian are both in love with Roxane, but Roxane loves only Christian and does not know that Cyrano loves her. Cyrano is good with words and Christian isn't, so Cyrano helps Christian woo Roxane. Roxane falls completely in love with him almost entirely because of letters she receives, but then Christian is killed. She only learns that Cyrano was the one writing the letters just before he dies, many years later, at her feet.


	4. Chapter 4: A Memory of Rain

_Chapter 4 - A Memory of Rain_

_Arthur had first had an inkling_ when he had picked that suit out for Alfred. He had spent longer shopping for it than he should have, and spent far too long anguishing over how to present it to him. He had shoved it on Alfred because of embarrassment and really, it was just a suit and the kid needed to dress better.

When he thought about it later, he decided that he had been being silly. Alfred was clearly growing apart from him and had been for some time, and a suit wasn't about to help that. But, surely the pain he felt at the thought of Alfred leaving him was just a result of misplaced brotherly affection. He had taken care of Alfred all these years, and he was being ungrateful. That was it; righteous anger, righteous pain. But sometimes he would catch himself thinking about how to keep Alfred close to him, and sometimes he thought about kissing him to make him stay, and then he would go to his room and close the door and do paperwork and pretend that Alfred didn't matter.

Arthur hadn't accepted that Alfred mattered so much until he was on his knees in the mud and the rain, crying, with his gun on the ground in defeat. He didn't think about what that acceptance meant. He just knew that his heart was breaking.

When he returned home after that day, he took his meals in his room or while he was doing paperwork, too distracted to notice what he was eating. One day, however, he finally decided that he had felt sorry for himself for long enough, and he took his dinner in the dining room. There was a clear glass vase of roses in the center of the long table. Dinner was sirloin steak. He cut a piece carefully, his mind elsewhere, and brought it to his lips. He bit down on it and suddenly realized that he was absolutely, completely alone, and he couldn't stop the tears.

That was when Arthur figured it out, but Alfred had already moved on.


	5. Chapter 5: Montreal, Part II

_Chapter 5 - Montreal, Part II_

**Montreal, Quebec, Canada - 1997**  
**Montreal Protocol - Discussion of Amendments**  
**10 Years After the Montreal Protocol**

The last seven years or so had passed in something of a daze. Sometimes Alfred had sat next to Arthur at the meetings, sometimes he hadn't. They'd exchanged pleasantries, but they were both busy and at other countries' houses. Yet here they were, back at Matthew's house, and Arthur was wondering if Alfred had plans.

At this point they had been sitting through hours of policy discussion and Arthur was starting to have a hard time concentrating. He had noticed Alfred completely zone out just after the lunch break, and he wished he could do the same. He gave up paying attention to whatever Francis was saying and concentrated on reordering his notes.

There was the muffled noise of a telephone ringing, and then a murmured voice. There was a pause, and then some footsteps coming from the adjacent room where their attendants were waiting. Arthur looked up just before the door opened and his – his! – attendant stuck his head in the room. Francis stopped talking so he could turn and see who it was.

"Mr. Kirkland," the attendant said. "A call for you."

Arthur blinked. "Is it really that important?"

"It's the Queen."

Arthur rose and crossed the room. He had been excited for a moment – maybe he was being called out of the meeting! – but the Queen very, very rarely called. He stepped into the side room and the attendant closed the door.

"Your Majesty?"

All the countries were quiet and listened intently, just able to make out what he was saying. There was a long silence, followed by a soft, "Oh God." They heard Arthur let out a long breath and then ask, "When?" A pause. "How?"

A much longer pause followed. They heard the click of the phone being hung up and then a murmur from the attendant. "No, I'm fine," they heard Arthur say, and Francis hurriedly began to talk again. The door opened and everyone pretended to be listening very closely to what he had to say.

"You alright?" Alfred murmured as Arthur passed him. He looked worried. Arthur just shook his head dismissively and sat down. He picked up his papers and tapped them to straighten them, first widthwise, then lengthwise. His face was white. He was completely spaced out for the rest of the meeting and didn't even try to pretend he wasn't. His gaze was focused on a spot on the table a foot or so in front of him. Francis finished up what he had to say hastily, some other countries briefly mentioned some matters, and then they decided that the meeting was finished. Everyone started busily putting things away and putting on coats and chatting happily and trying very hard to not look at Arthur.

"Man, you look awful," said Alfred quietly. Again with the worried look. He put a hand on Arthur's arm. "Why don't you come over?"

"I don't know," said Arthur. "I guess I should get home."

"I . . . don't think you should be alone right now. Come on. Some tea will do you good."

"You don't have any tea."

"I don't _like _tea. I still _have_ tea." He put a hand on his back to guide him out the door.

When they reached Alfred's front door, Arthur wasn't totally sure how they had gotten there. Alfred helped him out of his coat and made sure he was comfortable on the couch before going off to the kitchen. There was much banging around and slamming of doors and he was taking too long, so Arthur got up and came into the kitchen. He opened a back cupboard while Alfred watched. He poked around a little and pulled out a battered box of tea. "You always put it back away somewhere, idiot," Arthur said as he pulled out a teabag. "I always have to hunt for it whenever I come over." He took the kettle from Alfred's hand (which had boiled already) and poured it in the cup Alfred had set out on the counter. He put his hands against the edge of the counter and leaned forward a little, letting out a long sigh. To his surprise, he felt a sob caught in his throat and had to cough it out. Alfred was still standing behind him, still waiting. He swallowed. "Lady Diana . . . is dead."

"Lady Di?" There was a pause. "I'm . . . really sorry. Man. . . . Ah, wow . . ." Alfred leaned against the counter himself. He put a hand to his forehead. "She was. . . . Wow. That's awful."

"Yeah." Arthur's vision was starting to blur. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then arms wrapped around him. Arthur was starting to have trouble holding back the tears, so he turned around in Alfred's arms and hugged him back. He buried his face in Alfred's shoulder and before he knew it he was sobbing silently, his whole body shaking.

"Oh jeez, Arthur," said Alfred, his voice cracking. He wrapped his arms around Arthur as tightly as he could and pressed his lips to his hair. Soon he was crying too, and held onto him as if he would never let go.

Eventually Arthur's sobs subsided. He pulled back from Alfred and hastily wiped his eyes. He looked up to see Alfred watching him with tear stains still shining on his cheeks. He made no effort to wipe them away.

Arthur coughed awkwardly and pulled the teabag out of his cup of tea. The water was lukewarm and too dark, but he didn't really care. He concentrated on drinking it so that he wouldn't have to look at Alfred. He heard Alfred start the water boiling again and set about making a pot of tea.

"Go sit down," Alfred told him. "There are tissues on the coffee table. I'll bring the pot out when it's done."

"Alright." He shuffled (as much Arthur shuffled, which wasn't much at all) back into the living room and sat down on the couch. He blew his nose and wiped his face again. When Alfred brought in the teapot he mumbled, "Thanks."

"You know, I've been thinking – you should stay the night."

Arthur shook his head. "Oh, that would too much trouble for you –"

"Not at all." Alfred smiled at him and sat down across from him. "It would be my pleasure."

"Ah." Arthur looked away and felt himself blush slightly. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Alfred poured him another cup of tea. "What do you want to do? Watch a movie to take your mind off things?"

"Nah. I'm feeling a little tired. I think I'll finish this cup and then bid you goodnight."

"Alright."Alfred had poured himself a cup of tea but didn't touched it. He leaned back and stared blankly out the window while Arthur sipped his tea quietly. Arthur wondered mildly if he should make an effort to return home, but to honest, he didn't want to. He didn't want to deal with anything or anyone else right now.

He finished his cup of tea and poured himself another. He was halfway through it when he realized that he was taking advantage of Alfred's hospitality. Alfred was probably bored out of his mind and waiting for him to be done. He blushed and tried to gulp it down but ended up coughing. Alfred started.

"Woah there, don't hurt yourself," he said, laughing a little. "Take your time. There's no rush."

Arthur scowled into his teacup but poured himself another cup anyway. He drank it down while his mind was elsewhere and was about to pour himself a fifth cup when he realized that the pot was empty. "I guess I should be getting to bed now," he said, embarrassed. He looked at the clock and noticed that it was later than he had realized – not late, exactly, but he had already been at Alfred's house for a few hours.

"Righteo." Alfred stood up and stretched. He glanced down at the now-empty teapot and smiled. "I'd forgotten that tea is your comfort food."

"It's not food. And it's much better for you than Super Big Macs, or whatever it is you eat."

Alfred just laughed and shook his head. "Come upstairs. You can pick one of the guest rooms and I'll give you something to sleep in."

Alfred's house was huge. Arthur picked the first bedroom they came to because he honestly didn't care, but he almost regretted it. One of the many things Alfred gave him that he might "need" (slippers, pajamas, a bath robe, towels, his own soap and shampoo, and a "complementary hairdryer") was an electric lamp. It was one of the silliest things Arthur had seen, since it was made to look like an old-fashioned lamp but had an electric light inside. "For if you need to use the bathroom at night, down at the end of the hall," Alfred said – which Arthur thought was also silly, until he saw exactly how far away the end of the hall was.

"If you need anything else to read the library is downstairs and to your right."

"Thanks. Goodnight, Alfred."

"Well, goodnight then." He gave Arthur a sunny smile and closed the door behind him.

Arthur sighed and lay down on the bed. He thought about reading, but there was too much going through his head. He turned off the light and listened to Alfred's footsteps fade. There was the noise of a distant door closing and then silence.

Arthur rolled over. He started thinking about Lady Diana, and what everyone back home must be going through, and then he started feel really awful again. He tossed and turned for a few hours, and finally he gave up. _This is stupid, Arthur,_ he told himself. _You're exhausted. Go find something to do._ He lay in bed for a little longer, arguing with himself because there wasn't really anything he _could_ do – he didn't feel like reading – but he finally decided that he was going to explore Alfred's giant mansion if it killed him.

He got out of bed and put on the bath robe and slippers. He picked up the light and switched it on, and then very quietly opened the door. He left it open because he decided that otherwise there was a very good chance he'd never find it again.

He knew that all the doors on this hall led to more bedrooms, so he headed in the other direction. He had only a vague idea of where Alfred's bedroom was, but he skipped that whole area too, just in case. He ended up in another hallway that also seemed to be mostly bedrooms, but they looked like they didn't get much use. A few of the rooms seemed to be studies, and one of them held a set of chairs stacked up against the wall. But Arthur finally found something worthwhile.

It seemed to be a storage room and looked like it belonged in an attic, not a room on the first (or second, according to Alfred) floor. It was mostly filled with boxes and odd bits of furniture. Arthur walked all the way inside and held up his light. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, but he ignored then. Most things were covered with dust, some with thicker layers than others. He set the light down on an upturned chair and began to poke through a nearby box. It was full of junk, little trinkets and loose bells and things that Arthur didn't recognize. To keep his mind completely occupied, he tried to imagine where each thing could possibly have come from. That looked like a birthday present from Kiku; that was probably leftover from a trip to Ludwig's house. He had worked his way through a couple of boxes before he noticed the musket leaning against a trunk. He walked over and picked it up. Late 18th, early 19th century, still in relatively good condition. He ran his hand down the barrel and felt something rough underneath his skin. He held it closer to the light and saw a deep groove in the wood. A deep groove. . . . He ran his finger over it and suddenly realized what this must be. His hear sank. This was the gun Alfred had pointed at him at the end, on that day. Arthur slumped to the floor, cradling the gun in his lap. It was still in this storage room, among all this junk, and Arthur didn't know whether to be happy or sad about that.

He moved his hands up and down it idly and realized it there was only a thin layer of dust on its surface. He looked around him; yes, the dust had been disturbed. He stood up and set the gun down the way it had been. So Alfred had been in here somewhat recently. Perhaps there were other things in here from before that time, things that Arthur would recognize. He looked around critically and noticed a box that looked familiar. He pulled it out from under another box and opened it. There were the soldiers inside that he had given Alfred, so like the soldiers that Alfred had killed when he rebelled. He found the suit that he had picked out so carefully for Alfred, that he had known would suit him, that Alfred had dismissed as nothing. But he had kept it, locked away up here. Arthur didn't know what that meant.

Alfred found him sitting on the floor, crying quietly into his hands.

. . .

_Author's note: _Ohoho. I hope you're enjoying it. ;) I tried to keep Arthur's reminiscing on the rifle etc. short because I didn't want it to be too similar to the scene when Alfred finds them in _Hetalia _itself. :)


	6. Chapter 6: Midnight

_Chapter 6 - Midnight_

"Can't sleep?" Alfred asked softly.

Arthur jumped up hurriedly, wiping away his tears as he turned away. "My apologies. I didn't mean to –" _be in here. I didn't mean to wake you. I didn't mean to be crying._

"Come on, I would have locked the door if I cared." He saw the gun propped up against the trunk, just behind Arthur. "Ah, you saw that, huh?"

"Why did you bother keeping them?" He gestured at it, and the room in general. Alfred knew what he meant. "They don't mean anything anymore."

"Just a sentimental old man, I guess." He laughed and put his hands in his pockets.

Arthur turned towards him and realized that he was dressed in the same clothes he'd been in earlier. "Were you even sleeping?"

"Nah, I couldn't fall asleep either, but I guess I gave up earlier than you. I was just reading and doing paperwork. I just saw your light, is all. I was just a little worried." He smiled sadly and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur shook it off.

"I'm not weak, Alfred. You don't need to worry about me."

Alfred looked taken-aback. "I never said you were weak."

"I don't need your help, and I never have."

"I don't think you're weak!"

"Now you're acting like a child."

"_I'm_ acting like a child? I think _you're_ weak? Why were you always trying to protect me, huh?" Alfred actually looked angry, and maybe a little hurt. "You knew I could stand by myself, but you always insisted that I couldn't! 'Alfred, I'll put you under house-arrest so you don't get hurt! Alfred, I'll tell you what to do! Don't _disobey_ me, Alfred!' And the minute you need help, you tell me it's none of my business? You didn't think so a few hours ago!"

_He always was good at throwing tantrums,_ thought Arthur angrily._ Little git._ "I don't need your help, and I was always looking out for what was best for you! I was much stronger than you, and you know it."

"Looking out for what was best for me!" shouted Alfred, and Arthur was shocked to see tears gathering in his eyes. "What was best for me! You never cared about anything except keeping me to yourself! Of course you were stronger than me; you think I didn't know? Why do you think I tried so hard to get you to recognize me as another adult? You never wanted me to grow up, and you never wanted to accept that I could think for myself!"

"And now you're more powerful than me, and you have everything, you have friends, so why are you yelling at me?" Arthur was shouting too.

"I have friends? _Friends?_ What does that matter? You still act like everything is okay again between us, like you don't even care that I left!"

"I've never thought that everything is okay! You were the one who left me, who didn't care what it did to me! You call it your _birthday!_ For God's sake, Alfred!"

There was a silence that seemed to drag on forever as they both breathed heavily, staring each other down. Arthur was surprised to find that he was crying too – again! – and that Alfred didn't seem to be angry anymore. Instead he looked stricken, as though someone had slapped him across the face.

Suddenly Alfred turned, slapped his hand to his forehead, and paced the few steps to the door and back. "Alright, look," he said without looking at Arthur. "Let's forget this. This is all in the past anyway. Would some tea help you sleep?"

Arthur looked away as well. "It might."

"Come on, then." Alfred walked out the door, his back stiff. Arthur stared at the place between his shoulder blades the whole way down the stairs and tried to not think about how angry Alfred probably was. When they reached the living room, Alfred gestured tiredly at the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a pot of tea and two full mugs, though his own smelled distinctly of coffee this time. He set them down on the table, handed Arthur the other mug, and set about making a fire. He finally got it going and sat down next to Arthur, a fair distance away. "So tell me about Lady Di," Alfred said finally.

Arthur looked at the liquid in his cup. "Got any brandy?"

"I'm not letting you get drunk," Alfred told him shortly.

"Fine." He took a sip of the tea, which was scalding hot. He burned his tongue and didn't care. "Car crash. Unclear whose fault it was. She was in Paris."

"Immediate?"

"No. Died in the hospital."

Alfred nodded and drank some of his coffee. They both looked into the fire. Arthur had no crying left to do. He just felt empty and raw.

"She was a great woman."

"Yes."

A long silence. "I'm sorry."

Arthur nodded curtly. "Me too."

Alfred shifted so there was a little less space between them and leaned forward, away from him. "I'm glad you came over."

It sounded selfish and Alfred probably knew it, but Arthur knew that he meant something more by it. "Yeah."

Alfred looked at him, sidelong, miserably. "I'm always here for you, man."

"Yeah."

"I really mean it."

"I know, Alfred." Arthur sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "I appreciate it. I'm sorry about earlier." Alfred nodded and looked back at the fire. Arthur felt a wave of exhaustion roll over him despite the caffeine. Old regrets stirred up by their confrontation had settled at the top of his consciousness. He looked at the back of Alfred's head, his neck, his shoulders. The firelight shifted across his skin, giving it dusky shadows. "I'm sorry I didn't want you to grow up." That made Alfred look at him. "You grew up too fast. I know you just wanted to be as powerful as I used to be." Alfred looked surprised. He sat up straight.

"I just wanted you to notice me."

It was surprisingly honest and hit Arthur somewhere, painfully. He smiled bitterly. "I'm sorry I messed it up, then. Guess I overreacted."

"Look, like you said, we both messed up the first time, right?"

"Yes." Arthur noticed the way the light hit his jawline. _Don't go there, Arthur. It's not worth it._ "But I did make you hate me."

Alfred looked shocked. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. Finally, "I never hated you."

"I find that a little hard to believe."

"Hey," Alfred said softly. "I was there too. In the rain. I never hated you."

And Arthur knew that. Hate would have been so much easier to deal with than the strange pity Alfred had given him instead. "I don't understand why you would want to be friends after all I did to you." It came out angry and sharp, not heartbroken. He didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"It wasn't all your fault. I know I hurt you a lot."

"But why?"

Alfred looked into the fire. There was a long pause. "Kinda still love you, man." It came out slightly cracked.

Arthur felt as if someone had punched him. He was gripping his cup of tea unnaturally tightly. When he noticed, he set it down on the table. He swallowed. "Never mentioned that before."

"Yeah, well, it never really came up, and it wasn't like it mattered. I knew you didn't feel the same way." Alfred was still staring intently at the fire, but there was a flush creeping up his cheeks.

"You couldn't really know that." Arthur felt sick to his stomach.

"Yeah, I really did." Alfred looked away. "Forget about it. Like I said, doesn't matter."

"How did you know, then?"

Alfred looked at him now, and laughed sadly. "Kind of a silly question. You made it pretty clear you were my older brother."

"That's not knowing." Arthur was flushing, and it was becoming noticeable even in the firelight.

Alfred frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Ah. . . ." He swallowed again. This was so hard.

Now Alfred looked curious. "You didn't . . . ?"

"I'm sorry you left," he finally got out. Alfred was still looking at him with those blue, blue eyes. They were encouraging him, and very, very hopeful. "I never really. . . ." He stared at his lap, not seeing anything. _Dammit, you're a man, look at him, look at him, don't let him think you're weak, tell him, tell him! _A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and a hand rested on the back of his neck, pulling him close. There was a soft touch on his temple, and he realized it was a kiss.

"It's alright," said a voice in his ear. "Relax." He realized every muscle in his body was tensed. He tried to relax, but couldn't, and suddenly he felt ashamed of himself and he knew he was going to regret this if he didn't do something _right then_. He pushed Alfred off of him, grabbed his chin, and kissed him.

Alfred gripped his shoulder and leaned into the kiss, his eyes closed. Arthur panicked and pulled away, unbelievably embarrassed. Alfred's eyes opened. There was a light in his eyes that Arthur had rarely seen there before. He thought Alfred was going to do something, but instead he just squeezed Arthur's shoulder tighter. "You sure?" His voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat hastily.

"Yes."

"Oh man," breathed Alfred. "Can I kiss you?"

Arthur blinked rapidly a few times. "Tsk," he said finally, and turned his face away, hiding a smile that was made strained by his nervousness. "Yes, that would be –"

He felt strong fingers slip under his jaw. They tilted his head back around so he was looking at Alfred. Alfred moved in close and kissed his forehead very softly.

"Not what I thought you meant," Arthur muttered.

"Shh."

He kissed Arthur's right temple, then his cheekbone. Arthur closed his eyes and Alfred brushed his lips across his eyelid and kissed his eyebrow. He felt Alfred pause. He had just taken a breath when Alfred's lips touched his own, very tentatively. Alfred seemed to decide that it was alright, and gently closed his lips over Arthur's top lip, and then his bottom lip. Arthur returned the kiss in the same manner. Everything was soft and warm, and he was drowning in it. Alfred put his hand on the back of Arthur's head and dug his hand into his hair. His breath was hot on Arthur's neck as he kissed the exposed place where his neck met his shoulder and Arthur sighed at the pleasant feeling running through him.

He ran his hands across Alfred's shoulders and down his arms and nipped at his ear. Alfred sighed too, and then pressed him against the couch and kissed his jawline roughly and followed the tendons of his neck to the small triangle formed by the lapels of his nightshirt. Arthur shoved his hands under Alfred's shirt and tried to make him gasp, but Alfred got him first and pushed him all the way onto his back. Arthur almost pushed him off again, but then he noticed the way Alfred was looking at him from beneath his glasses and ended up pulling him farther down on top of him by his collar. His glasses banged uncomfortably against Arthur's nose and Alfred took them off. He took liberties in exploring every part of Arthur's torso, but Arthur smiled when he accidentally touched his thigh and blushed.

Eventually they tired and Alfred collapsed on top of him. He resorted to nuzzling Arthur's neck with his cold nose while Arthur protested faintly. He didn't really mean it, but eventually Alfred stopped anyway. Alfred got his glasses off of the table and sat up, still straddling Arthur's legs. He smiled down at Arthur. "We should get you to bed."

"Mmm, what time is it?"

"Like one in the morning."

"Oh." Alfred got off of him and he sat up too. "I suppose it is a bit late –" In answer, Alfred leaned down and slung him over his shoulder, fireman-style. Arthur squawked and slapped him on the back. Alfred winced.

"Set me down! You're being a moron."

"No." Alfred grinned and carried him up the stairs. Arthur angrily watched the floor pass below him and then found himself dumped him on the bed rather unceremoniously.

"Could have killed me," muttered Arthur, and Alfred laughed. Arthur suddenly realized that he wasn't in a guest room. He looked around at all the superhero posters on the walls. There was no mistaking it; this was Alfred's room. He grew serious and looked at Alfred, who was watching him. "Alfred. . . ."

"I'm not trying anything," Alfred told him. "Really." A charming smile. He started to unbutton his shirt as he walked towards the dresser. "I know you were having a hard time sleeping, so maybe it will help if you aren't alone."

"I'm not a –"

"Child, I know, I know," said Alfred hastily, his ears going a bit pink. "I just thought it might be nice."

"I don't think –"

"Look, I want you to sleep with me, okay?" Alfred turned around towards Arthur, blushing deeply and not meeting his eyes directly. "I have a hard time sleeping sometimes."

Arthur had a hard time hiding his smile. "Fine. Just this once." He slid under the covers and turned his back to Alfred so he wouldn't have to watch him strip. He heard his clothes fall the floor and the rustle as Alfred pulled his shirt over his head and pulled on his pants. The noise of the drawer being closed. The bed sank slightly as Alfred slipped in beside him. The light clicked off.

"Goodnight," Alfred whispered.

"Goodnight," Arthur said back, smiling into the darkness. After a while, an arm wrapped around his stomach and a nose nuzzled the back of his neck. Perhaps a minute passed before he felt Alfred relax, and then begin to snore gently. Arthur could still feel the dull pain of grief weighing him down, but it was just a background feeling now. His eyes slid shut, and he felt himself hovering between consciousness and sleep. It seemed to be many, many years earlier, when he had slightly woken from a deep sleep to find a small Alfred huddled against him under the covers. _How strange,_ he thought, _that Alfred has grown up, and it feels like things are as they should be. How strange that I always dreaded this. That day in the rain seems so far away._ He drifted to sleep, and when he woke it was to a stray ray of sunshine leaking through a closed curtain. He didn't move, just lay looking at the curtain and that bit of light. He could smell coffee and hear Alfred moving about downstairs. He realized that he was going to have to go back home today and feel the grief of his people crash down on him again. It was a hard thing to wake to, but he heard steps on the stairs and then Alfred appeared in the doorway holding a tray.

"Good morning. Breakfast in bed!"

Arthur sat up. He smiled, a hint of sadness in it. "Sure." _Are you for real, or just being nice to me?_ Alfred plopped down on the bed beside him and handed him a cup of tea. He set the tray on his lap and began arranging the plates on it so that Arthur could reach them properly. "I'm not sick," Arthur told him.

"I know, I know, but I always liked it when you did this for me when I sad. I mean, the food always took away any appetite I had, but. . . ."

Arthur kicked him through the covers and Alfred laughed before leaning over and kissing him on the forehead in answer to the unspoken question.

Maybe the world wasn't such a lonely place after all.

. . .

_Author's note: _Urk. =.= I had a hard time writing the fluffy scenes at the end. Was it too much fluff? I hope you enjoyed it anyway. :)


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